Bucephalus II The Performance
by Kizzykat
Summary: Alexander sings for his father


**Bucephalus Part II - The Performance by Kizzykat**

Alexander stood alone in the centre of the King's brightly-lit dining hall, in the clear space surrounded by the gilded dining couches. The occupants of the couches were watching him, waiting for his performance. Alexander had offered to sing for his father's guests.

In his wisdom, Alexander had decided that Philip was neglecting his guests. He had decided that the proud Greeks from Byzantium were bored with the scantily clad dancing girls offered by Philip as entertainment, and were looking down their noses at Macedonia's uncultured court. He felt too that they were insulted by Philip's lack of courtesy to them. He knew instinctively that his father's temper was growing short tonight, that he was drinking too much, and that he was becoming irritated with the superior attitude of the Byzantines.

They had arrived to discuss a trade agreement but were proving obdurate on the terms, and Philip was losing patience. Alexander thought they needed sweetening before the deal went sour, and that it was up to him to do something. So he had slipped down from his father's couch as the dancing girls finished. He had stood in the centre of the floor and bowed slightly to the King.

Everyone looked at him and he said, "I should like to sing for our guests, father."

Philip looked at his son steadily for a moment with his one good eye. Without breaking eye contact with Alexander he took a mouthful of wine from his goblet. Swallowing, he lowered the goblet and said, "Why?"

The room became quiet at the insolence in Philip's tone, and Alexander's shoulders stiffened slightly. But he believed he was in the right, and his voice was still bright.

"I should like to show our guests how well I am being brought up, father," Alexander said. His round, innocent eyes stared at Philip, but there was defiance there.

Philip considered knocking Alexander's head off his shoulders. The boy was mocking him. He was such a show-off; he loved to draw attention to himself, attention that was not rightly his. This had nothing to do with him.

"Really?" he said very slowly. "That's what you're doing, is it?" He turned his head away, raised his goblet and took a long slow drink of neat wine. "Go ahead then," he said negligently, waving his hand at Alexander.

Alexander raised his head and began to sing. His pure, clear voice filled the dining hall, stilling all other sounds. He sang a song of Odysseus's homecoming, of how no one knew him except his faithful old hound, who wagged his tail for him and laid down and died, his waiting at an end.

Alexander has a beautiful voice, black-haired Cleitus thought, taking a deep breath to dispel the sentiment welling in his chest. The boy's voice should have started to break by now, but it was still pure, still better than it had a right to be, but that was typical of Alexander.

Cleitus was sitting on a bench just inside the doorway of the dining hall. The tall double doors stood open to the mild, late summer night air, and Cleitus had slipped inside to watch the dancing girls, one of whom he was currently enamoured with. He knew the guards posted at the doorway and they had let him in: he would owe them later.

Alexander sang, his body vibrating with the passion of his performance, and a movement in the doorway caught in the corner of Cleitus' eye. He half-turned his head to see a young boy standing in the doorway, head up as he stared down the hall at Alexander, his face a picture of wonder.

Cleitus smiled to himself at the child's enchantment. Since the boy had arrived at Pella a few days ago, Hephaestion had been Alexander's shadow. He was too young to enter the King's dining hall unaccompanied and had no male relative to invite him in. He must have been hanging around outside in the portico and, hearing Alexander's voice, had been drawn in out of the darkness like a moth to a flame.

Surreptitiously, Cleitus studied the boy. This one was a pretty boy, but not all pretty boys made beautiful youths, and it was rarer still that a beautiful youth became a handsome man. This one though – he stood out from the crowd. He had the power to draw eyes when he walked into a room: Alexander had the same quality, blessed by the gods with charisma.

Polite applause interrupted Cleitus' musings as Alexander's song finished. The Byzantines looked pleased, but Philip was not applauding. His face was tight with anger and the Byzantines' applause faltered as Alexander stared at his father.

Philip stared very deliberately back at Alexander. The silence lengthened and became tangible until Philip eventually drawled, "Very nice." He looked down, swirling the wine around in his goblet. "I should think you would be ashamed to sing like a girl," he muttered, yet his words were audible enough for the whole room to hear.

"Attalus!" Philip called suddenly, his voice loud and hearty as he turned to his friend a few couches away, effectively dismissing Alexander. "How much will you bet me that my grey stallion can beat your mangy roan in the races?" he demanded.

"I'll bet you the horse himself," Attalus said good-humouredly. "You can have him if your old grey can beat him."

"Don't take the bet, Philip," Parmenion warned from the other side of the room. "Your grey's worth two of that roan. He has no staying power."

Alexander stood forgotten in the centre of the floor as conversation began again around the room among the men. Stiffly he made his way to his father's couch and perched awkwardly on the end, his face set like fiery stone, his eyes as dark and terrible as Medusa's.

At the doorway, Hephaestion instinctively stepped into Alexander's torment.

Cleitus surged up from his bench, caught his arm across Hephaestion's chest and scooped the boy backwards with him out of the door. Caught unawares, Hephaestion was dragged out onto the portico. He began to resist, but Cleitus tightened his grip on the boy's chiton and propelled him backwards, out past the old men, boys and stray dogs in the portico, out into the dark courtyard. He pushed Hephaestion away across the dusty ground.

"Out!" he growled at him, looming dark and menacing against the light from the dining hall.

Hephaestion looked up at him, fiery determination reflected by the torchlight in his eyes as he stepped forward again.

Cleitus pushed him back with the flat of his hand against the boy's chest. "You want to draw more attention to him?" he demanded. "Wait. Philip will send him out soon enough."

Hephaestion, pushed back several paces, hesitated. Then suddenly he turned and fled across the courtyard. He had spotted Alexander marching rapidly away from the dining hall along the colonnade. Cleitus turned to watch them disappear into the night around the corner of the building.

"Alexander, Alexander!" Hephaestion whispered fiercely, running to catch up with Alexander, who was paying him no heed. He reached out a hand to Alexander's arm.

Alexander spun round, violently throwing off Hephaestion's touch. "Get off!" he snarled, his voice harsh with menace. He thrust his head and shoulders threateningly towards Hephaestion out of the dark shadows.

Hephaestion stilled, wide-eyed, but did not flinch. He watched Alexander, alert as Alexander's eyes roved wildly over him.

"Go away!" Alexander said, his eyes burning with anger, a sheen of contempt filling them at the still form of Hephaestion.

Hephaestion stared silently through the upset threatening his heart, seeing the hurt strength beneath Alexander's violence. His lips moved slightly. "He didn't mean it," he murmured.

"He did mean it!" Alexander cried vehemently. "I hate him! I hate him! I hate him!" He ended with a sob of anger as he backed against the wall of the building, almost lost in desperation with a look of wildness on his face.

Hephaestion's eyes widened in fear as he moved tentatively towards Alexander. He could not leave him like this.

"I'll kill him!" Alexander said, his voice a harsh, twisted croak. "I'll kill him if he says that to me again!"

Hephaestion gasped, shocked at Alexander's impiety.

In the blink of an eye, Alexander's tense form sprang upon Hephaestion in the darkness, bearing him backwards as he clutched Hephaestion's chiton, bunching the cloth in his fists.

"I won't!" Alexander cried. "I won't!" he repeated, eyeball to eyeball with Hephaestion.

Fear snaked around Hephaestion in the night, but he held Alexander's dark-eyed gaze. "No," he whispered quietly in affirmation.

A wrenching sob escaped Alexander as he pushed Hephaestion away and turned into the shadows. His shoulders shook as he raised a hand against the wall, supporting himself for an instant as if he would fall.

Pressing his lips together in mute pain, Hephaestion moved towards him, afraid to touch him. He thought he would scorch with Alexander's heat. He thought he would burn and Alexander be consumed in the flames of Hades.

Alexander could feel Hephaestion's ghostly aura at his back like a yearning flame burning in a god's temple. He swiped roughly at his damp eyes.

"I'm going to bed," he said, his voice tense with pain. He glanced quickly over his shoulder at Hephaestion, his eyes coated defensively, quiescent now as a thundercloud.

Alexander began walking towards the foot of the wide shallow stairs that led up to the royal quarters and Hephaestion followed, drawn empathically by the hook in his heart.

At the foot of the stairs, Alexander paused, looking towards Hephaestion again, his eyes guarded but seeking company, unwilling to ask if Hephaestion would forgive his anger. Hephaestion moved towards him, his blue eyes full of fearlessness.

"Alexander," said his mother from the head of the stairs.

Both boys looked up in surprise at the top of the stairs where Olympias, regal in white and gold, stood with one hand raised to adjust the white veil draped over her hair. Two maids accompanied her, one of whom stood on the stairs to light the queen's footsteps, her lamp causing shadows to loom large behind the queen down the dark upper ceiling and walls.

Olympias's eyes moved from one boy to the other, trying to gauge the aggravation radiating from Alexander and the conspiracy enclosing the two boys.

She had been to bid Alexander goodnight and, on finding his bed unoccupied, was returning to her rooms when she had heard her son's voice. Her maternal instincts had instantly been attuned to the distress in his voice even though she had not heard his words and she had come to find him.

"What is it?" she asked tersely. "What has happened?" A dark and dangerous god moved through the night darkness at the foot of the stairs and her son was a stranger to her with unfathomable eyes.

"Nothing," Alexander said flatly.

"Alexander, don't lie to me," she said, descending the stairs with fear in her heart. "Did your father say something to you?"

"No. Nothing!" Alexander cried, painfully vexed.

Olympias stood a step above the two boys, transfixed by the outraged anguish on Alexander's face. Yet he would never tell her what was wrong in front of witnesses. "Go to bed, Hephaestion," she said.

The dark-haired young boy stared back at her owlishly with round eyes. She really resented having another woman's child forced on her to care for. Who else would make sure he was washed, clothed and fed? Why could his mother not have done her duty and kept him at home until he was old enough to join the Pages? There was no place for him here, nor for that great dog that followed him around everywhere.

Under the amber ire of her gaze, the boy backed up and faded into the shadows.

"No," Alexander protested.

"Alexander," his mother said, rounding on him, "it's time to go to bed. Come."

Catching her skirts in one hand and Alexander's wrist protectively in the other, Olympias turned to reascend the stairs.

"Let go of me!" Alexander cried, wrenching his wrist free from his mother's grasp. "Let me go!"

"Alexander!" Olympias cried as Alexander began to run up the stairs. "Come back!"

Her son turned at the top of the stairs, the maids backed against the walls, a war of fury, shock and confusion contorting his features. "Leave me alone, mother! I'm going to bed!"

He disappeared rapidly down the upper landing, leaving Olympias standing poised at the foot of the stairs. Shocked and feeling bereft of her motherhood, she tightened her lips on her feelings and prepared to mount the stairs alone.

There was a movement in the air at her back as if great, snowy white wings were brushing silently through the night air. Olympias looked over her shoulder, searching the shadows and silently invoking the goddess Athena's protection. She saw nothing except the pale blur of the boy deep in the shadows. "Go to bed, Hephaestion," she said coldly, and turned to mount the stairs, a sense of defeat sitting heavily in her chest.

Alexander stormed through the outer room of his quarters and into his bedroom, banging the door behind him. He banged it with such force that it didn't latch properly and bounced open slightly. He didn't notice though as he curled up into a tight ball against the side of his bed, his head against the mattress, his knees against his chest, his arms over his head.

He wanted to cry, he wanted to hit something; he hated himself, he hated his parents, and everyone else in the whole world who'd witnessed his humiliation. With one possible exception, who probably hated him because he was such a terrible person.

Though his eyes were burning, no tears would come, and he couldn't breathe he was curled up so tightly. He got up and began walking hotly around his room, not knowing what to do to ease his pain, so he undressed and got into bed. If his mother came to check up on him, she couldn't have a go at him if he were in bed and sleeping.

Alexander lay on his side in his bed, staring with dry and burning eyes through the darkness at the lamplight from the outer room showing around the slightly open door to his bedroom, his mind empty, his heart pretending to be dead, waiting for oblivion to come to him so that he could start to forget.

When the outer door opened he thought it was one of the servants. Yet even as it registered on his mind that he could hear the click of a dog's claws on the floorboards, he didn't move when the door to his room opened and Hephaestion and his dog were briefly silhouetted against the soft light of the outer room. Hephaestion came quietly into the room with his dog and pushed the door to again with his heel.

In a moment, Alexander found himself staring at two pairs of eyes on a level with his own, one white and blue, one a glowing yellow and black, as Hephaestion sat on his heels by Alexander's bedside, his thin arms wrapped around his knees, his dog sitting beside him. Alexander could smell the big dog's hot breath as he sat with jaws agape, panting slightly against Hephaestion's shoulder.

Hephaestion stared at Alexander for a long time. He didn't think Alexander had been crying as he stared back at him from out of the bedclothes under a tangled fringe of hair with hot, dry, and unblinking eyes.

"Do you need a cuddle?" Hephaestion whispered.

Alexander shook his head with a stiff jerk.

Hephaestion hesitated. "Can I come in anyway?" he whispered.

Alexander didn't reply, but scooted himself backwards across the bed to make room for Hephaestion.

Hephaestion unfolded himself from the floor, pulled off his sandals and crawled under the bedclothes. His dog climbed up onto the bed as well and, at a push from Hephaestion, clambered over Alexander with hard claws. He flopped down against Alexander's back and Alexander found himself squashed between the heavy weight of the dog and Hephaestion's bony knees as Hephaestion lay on his side facing Alexander. Hephaestion took a moment to decide what to do with his arms, tucking them against his chest so they weren't quite touching Alexander.

"Your feet are cold," Alexander told him quietly.

"Sorry," Hephaestion said, moving them away from Alexander's.

"No," Alexander said, moving his own feet towards Hephaestion. "Put them on my feet. It'll warm them up."

Hephaestion did so, trying not to scratch Alexander with his toenails. He watched Alexander among the shadows of the bedclothes for a long moment, a myriad questions passing through his eyes as he tried to evaluate the depth of Alexander's injury. Alexander's mouth was not as tightly closed as it had been, but he was still staring with unblinking eyes at Hephaestion.

"Mothers don't always understand, do they?" Hephaestion whispered.

Alexander closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head tightly, unable to speak.

Suddenly, Hephaestion whispered fiercely, "Why is he so mean?"

Alexander blinked. He had not expected that from Hephaestion. "He wants me to be like him," he said quietly.

"But you're not like him."

A change came over Alexander's face, as though the blood was beginning to move around his heart again. "He doesn't think I'm good enough to be his heir. He doesn't think I'm tough enough."

"Why? Because you like music and poetry and he doesn't?"

"He's ashamed of me," Alexander said, his voice thin as his throat constricted. "Because I sing like a girl."

"No, you don't," Hephaestion said passionately, moving himself unconsciously closer to Alexander across the pillow. "Your singing was beautiful. It took everyone's breath away. He's just jealous because you're better than him. He could never hold everyone's attention like that."

Alexander watched Hephaestion uncertainly, life and hope fluttering like trapped birds in his chest. Suddenly, his lower lip trembled and he tightened it, blood stealing into his face.

Hephaestion stilled, watching Alexander with trepidation. He didn't want to make him cry. He knew how much Alexander had wanted to impress his father and the other men with his singing, how much he had wanted to be one of them, to show that among this company of outstanding men he too was very good.

"We could run away," Hephaestion whispered quickly. "We could go to Thebes and enlist in the Sacred Band and become great heroes. Or we could go to Persia as mercenaries and earn a king's ransom in foreign wars and have fantastic adventures, and see dragons, and giants at the end of the world."

Alexander shook his head stiffly against the pillow. "I'm not running away from him," he said.

Hephaestion, getting carried away by his imagination, paused in a moment of disappointment.

"I'm not afraid of him, Hephaestion," Alexander said quietly. "But I'm going to be better than him. I'm going to be the greatest hero the world has ever seen. I'm going to be remembered forever."

Hephaestion stared at him, dreams taking shape before his imagination. His eyes shone with wonder. "Like Achilles," he breathed.

"Yes." A troubled expression crossed Alexander's face. "I didn't mean that," he said, "about killing him."

"No, I know. But Achilles was given a mortal father because he was destined to be greater than his father, and your mother is of Achilles' blood."

Hope and a stir of excitement warred with uncertainty in Alexander's eyes. "But I have no prophecy," he said, his eyes searching Hephaestion's.

Hephaestion looked at him steadily with bright eyes. "Then we'll have to ask the gods if there is a prophecy about you," he said with resolution.

"My mother keeps asking her gods," Alexander said soberly. "I think she knows but she won't tell me until I'm older." He looked at Hephaestion. "She still treats me like I'm two," he said with a trace of scorn. He moved impatiently in the bed, jostling against Hephaestion's dog, who grumbled in his sleep.

Alexander raised his head and peered at the dog. "Your dog had better not put any fleas in my bed," he said.

"He won't," Hephaestion said, raising his head to check the dog, "he hasn't got any. But he slobbers when he dreams."

"Ugh," Alexander said, laying down again. After a moment, he said quietly, "Did you mean that about running away with me?"

"Oh, yes," Hephaestion said eagerly. "We could be like Odysseus, wandering for years and having amazing adventures. Or like Heracles, performing impossible tasks to win a princess's hand in marriage and her father's kingdom."

"I want to go to Troy," Alexander said.

Hephaestion drew in a breath of excitement. "And ride wild horses across the windy plain."

"And fight a battle beneath the topless towers of Ilium," Alexander said. "Only." His voice slowed with sadness. "Patroclus dies there."

"Yes, but it was a glorious and a heroic death," Hephaestion said, his enthusiasm undimmed. "And no body would remember him if he didn't die."

"He gave his life for the greater good of the army. He was a true soldier. He was a better man than Achilles."

Hephastion looked at Alexander, his eyes large and unsure, wondering if Alexander really meant it.

Then there was a stir in the outer room as someone came in. A young man's voice called out cheerfully, "What are you two boys doing in there?"

"Nothing!" came back the chorus of boyish voices. "We're just talking," Alexander called, recognising the voice.

Ptolemy, who was one of Philip's senior Pages, poked his head through the bedroom door. "Alexander," he said, taking in the situation with a smile to himself, "Philip wants you to go with him to inspect the harbour works tomorrow morning."

"Can Hephaestion come?" Alexander asked, wriggling around to lie on his back between Hephaestion and the dog, who raised his head to inspect the newcomer.

"I expect so. Has he got a horse?"

"Of course I have," Hephaestion said indignantly, lying shoulder to shoulder with Alexander.

"Hephaestion," Ptolemy said in mild exasperation, "get that dog off the bed."

"He'll just get back on," Hephaestion said equably.

"Don't you dare bring him with you tomorrow," Ptolemy said. "Philip hates spoilt dogs."

"I wasn't going to," Hephaestion protested. "It's too much for him. He's over a hundred years old, you know."

"Really?" Ptolemy said with mock disbelief.

"Yes. You multiply his age by seven to get his age in dog years."

"I know that, you little idiot. Now get to sleep the pair of you, or you'll never be up in the morning." He drew his head back through the door, ready to leave.

"Ptolemy," Alexander said, calling him back.

"Yes?"

"Tell Philip 'thank you' for me," Alexander said, his hand stealing to cover Hephaestion's beneath the bedcovers, bidding him stay.

"I will," Ptolemy said with a smile. He backed out through the door, closing it after him. In the darkness Alexander sighed softly and closed his eyes, relaxing with Hephaestion's hand warm beneath his.

_Philip's comment about Alexander singing like a girl comes from Mary Renault's 'The Nature of Alexander'. The source is Aelian._


End file.
